


Dark Lords and Diadems

by emeebee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 12:11:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7639696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeebee/pseuds/emeebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was Voldemort up to during Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban? It just so happens he was picked up by a plump witch who dressed him in green frills and had him sing Britney Spears songs while holding a snake all so that she could exact revenge to soothe the sting of a 25 year old grudge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Lords and Diadems

That peon had defeated him A SECOND TIME. Once again, Harry Potter had rendered the Dark Lord no more than a squabbling infant. It was humiliating.

But something happened this time. When members of the Ministry came to check on their golden boy. A woman with a heart of... Well... Ice, took a disdainful stroll through the Forbidden Forest - just to feel more at home. Which is where she stumbled upon the hiding place Voldemort had wiggle-wormed his way to after his TOUCHING encounter with the boy who lived.

She scooped him up, swaddled him in her pink cloak, and stuck him in her purse. Like Elle Woods' dog in Legally Blonde. Voldemort had been reduced to a Purse Pet.

From inside the bag Voldemort was kept in the dark about what was happening. And the Dark Lord did not like being kept in the dark. He tried to let his swaddler/captor know of his distaste. But instead of scathing insults, it just came out as wobbling cries.

"Hush shush, little one," the woman croaked. "We'll have you nursed back to health in no time."

Voldemort gave a shudder but refused to utter another demeaning cry. And soon, the rocking of the purse had lulled the young-in-body Voldemort to sleep.

 

When he woke, he appeared to be in a child's bedroom. On the table next to his frighteningly cheery bed sat a sippy cup with a note next to it. "Unicorn blood," it read. "For my Schmoopie Pooper." With a heart drawn on it, of course. As much as Voldemort resented being called that name, his body cried for unicorn blood. And so he drank it. Though the cup had flowers. It was a good thing his death eaters were not around to see it.

Once he had drained the pitifully filled cup of its nutrients, he returned to sleep.

Too much light. Too many flowery smells. And singing? Voldemort pushed himself out of the tiny bed and toddled his way to the source of the offences to end them.

Too bad he didn't have a tiny wand with which to carry out his despicable desires.

"Oh!" the frog lady exclaimed. "You're awake. I was just making some kippers."

And she hoisted him into a highchair.

"This is below me," Voldemort said, disdainfully.

She hardly seemed bothered that the disfigured toddler was speaking full sentences.

"You'll eat what I put in front of you," she said pleasantly. "Though I'm not entirely sure what kippers are."

"Aren't they a fish?"

"I couldn't say."

"I want more unicorn blood," Voldemort said after his meal of mystery.

"And you'll get it, too."

This pleased the Dark Lord.

"So long as you cooperate."

This, not so much.

"You see, I've always wanted a child though no man has ever made advances towards me." (She wasn't yet aware that she was to be the wife of a centaur.) "And so I will nurse you back to health so long as you pretend to be my child."

Voldemort opened his mouth to adamantly and stubbornly refuse. But then he thought beyond his base instincts. This woman was essentially agreeing to do his dirty work. True, she didn't bear his mark. But she would take care of his needs.

"This means all the unicorn blood I desire?"

"I suppose."

Voldemort decided to push his luck. "And a rocket ship?"

"When the technology becomes available."

A most admirable answer. She was willing to do most anything. "Then I suppose I shall consent to being your child. For a time."

"Delightful!" She brushed her hands on the frilled apron she wore. "I suppose I should introduce myself. Delores Umbridge." And she held out her hand for Voldemort to shake.

Of course, Voldemort did not shake hands.

"Pleasure. My name is Tim." His young mouth had slipped!

"Nice to meet you, Tim."

And it was too late for him to correct Delores Umbridge. Perhaps this was for the best. If she knew who he truly was, she might back out on their deal.

For the next few days, things ran smoothly. Umbridge fed Tim Voldemort more unicorn blood, put him down for naps when he got cranky with her (which he pretended to detest but secretly was thankful for), and otherwise left him to his own devices when she went to work at the ministry.

But then she brought home the dress.

She had brought it in, hung it on the back of a chair, unzipped the covering and fluffed the ruffles to better show Tim the poofy, pink, pageanty pinafore.

"I've entered you in a competition," she said.

Tim did not respond.

"And this is to be your costume."

"If you think I am going to put that on," he began.

"You will if you want to continue living in this house will all the privileges I provide you."

He did love that sweet, sweet unicorn blood.

But was it worth it?

"You have until tomorrow to decide."

All that evening the pink monstrosity stared him down, daring him to accept, daring him to refuse. What sort of competition required its participants to wear such voluminous frills?

He tossed and turned in his child-sized bed that night, debating the pros and cons of the proposition before him. Pro - Umbridge would let him stay. Con - he had to wear that awful (not to mention potentially itchy) dress. Pro - at least none of his colleagues would recognize him. Con - the dress was so ugly! Pro - perhaps the dress could be green?

"I agree to compete," Tim Voldemort said the next day. "So long as the dress is green."

With a heavy sigh and wave of her wand, Umbridge magicked the dress into a gaudy, green, glittering, garment. "Happy?"

And he was. Well, as happy as he could be going into a competition he knew nothing about except that it required outrageous clothing.

 

Umbridge had belted him into a bizarre safety seat that she fastened with magic to the seat of a horse drawn carriage.

"Bloody muggles," she groaned. "Won't let me use thestrals."

"At least we're not taking blasted muggle motorcar transportation."

"I would never risk my revenge on such unreliable technology," Umbridge said, sounding offended.

She gave the driver what sounded like an address and the carriage lurched into motion.

"Now," she said to Tim, "We need to discuss your character. You have been entered into the competition as Timantha Margaret Rizzlekicks. And we must capitalize on the fact that you have been orphaned."

"Hold up," said little toddler Tim Voldemort, Dark Lord of all. "Timantha?"

"Yes," she replied, frustrated at being interrupted. "They do not let males enter beauty pageants."

"And you know my gender?" Tim thought for a second. BEAUTY PAGEANT? Well, he had been quite the looker back in his Hogwarts days.

"Of course I know your gender. I had to bathe you when I first brought you into my home. You were quite filthy."

Tim decided to shove this information into a dark corner of his mind - of which he had many.

"You have been orphaned and it is your biggest desire to find validation through your peers by means of your beauty and talents."

Tim thought for a moment. This seemed acceptable. "And what is your motivation for doing this," he asked her.

"Susan has had it too good for too long."

Tim tried to use legilimency in order to further pursue this line of thought in Umbridge's mind but his tiny toddler brain did not quite have the capacity for that yet.

Perhaps with more unicorn blood?

"I will require nourishment throughout the day if you expect me to perform at my peak."

She handed him a bottle of silver liquid with a label that said 'go go juice.'

"Do not ask about the name. It is from some silly American propaganda."

Ah, the Americans. Uncultured, tea-loathing swine.

"We must be sure to capitalize on the fact that you are an orphan," she reiterated. "Orphans are all the rage."

Tim thought of Harry Potter and found he could not disagree. Perhaps they were more alike than he would care to admit… No. The metaphorical implications ran too deep to be considered with any sincerity in this situation.

"The pageant consists of three events: the talent show, the footie pajama competition, and finally the interview. I hope you have a talent prepared."

Tim thought for a moment. "Does speaking with snakes count?" Tim bit his lip. Speaking with snakes was not a normal skill. But Umbridge did not seem to react negatively to the fact that he had just confessed to being a parselmouth. All she said was "Fantastic. We'll have you do a Britney Spears number."

"Who?"

"American muggle artist. Dances with snakes."

"Won't I need to have the lyrics prepared or anything? And what does this footie pajama competition entail?"

"Don't worry about any of it. I'll simply use magic if things are going poorly."

Tim relaxed. This was going to be easy! All he had to do was play dress up and let the pink toad with a magic stick do the rest.

"The footie pajama competition is comprised of two portions: The Cuteness Catwalk and The Nap. I have these delightful pajamas already prepared - ruffles on the bum, very vogue - and -"

Tim cut her off. "Can they have snakes on them too?"

"Very well. A snake-printed, ruffle-bum'd, lace trimmed pair of footie pajamas. The Nap portion simply requires you to fall asleep quickly."

That would be no problem. Lately, Tim had quite the affinity for sleeping. In dangerous wooded areas, on people's heads, inside musty turbans… And also in damp secret chambers… Or had that been a dream? And why was he suddenly wishing for a soft squirrel to snuggle with? Absurd.

"But how shall I succeed at the interview portion? My vocabulary is not quite in line with that of a toddler."

"You'll have to try your best. If nothing else I can magic you to win but the revenge won't be as sweet that way. I have faith in your ability to appear the best in the other two categories."

Tim decided to not point out that her magicking him to appear the best did not exactly mean she had confidence in him at all.

They arrived at the event hall to the judging eyes of pageant mums and their toddlers all disapproving of their 'unusual' mode of transportation. Umbridge unhooked Tim from the seat, helped him out of the carriage, grabbed a suitcase and his hand, and strode head held high through the front doors.

They followed the signs to the backstage area where Umbridge, with mechanical precision, set up what Tim could only describe as a headquarters of sorts. Either she had military training for this sort of thing or she had practiced it many times over.

Tim left her to her muttering and fussing and waddled around in the sickly violet robes he had been dressed in.

"Look at the new kid," Tim heard a voice call tauntingly. He turned, and saw a girl (though Tim acknowledged that he assumed their gender based on Umbridge’s insistence that boys could not compete in beauty pageants. Then again, here he was: a boy in a beauty pageant So he decided to grant this sole competitor gender neutral pronouns as much as he could.) who couldn't be older than three and wearing the most unflattering shade of orange staring hard at him. "What a freak."

A girl with fake eyelashes that had to be three times too long for her toddled up to the first's side. "And that nose! What, did your mommy drop you on your face as a baby?"

"My mother died when I was born," Tim found himself saying.

"Boo hoo," the Orange child said. "You must have been so ugly she died rather than raise you."

Tim, having had enough of this, reached for a wand that wasn't there. He swore a quiet wizard's swear.

"What did you call me," asked Orange.

"Sounded like he said Unicorn Turds."

Tim had, in fact, said Unicorn Turds. He had, ironically, learned most of his wizard swears from some Hufflepuffs putting on Public Service Announcement Puppet Shows.

"I am not unicorn turds," Orange said, stomping his (or was it her? Their? Tim did not particularly care at this point) foot for emphasis.

Tim, having really had enough this time, turned to find Umbridge to see if he couldn't sneak her wand away.

"You eat bum scabs," Orange called after him.

Tim froze, his toddler body seething with frustration. It was this blatant lie stated as irrefutable truth that steeled little Tim Voldemort to do whatever he must to win. These children, these filthy muggle children must go down. 

He strode purposefully back to Umbridge.

"I will do whatever it takes to win," he said.

She nodded at him. "Then it's time to get you prepared for the first event."

 

Voldemort almost backed out. Umbridge had dressed him in the most scandalous outfit he almost couldn't believe that she expected him to compete in a child's beauty pageant in it. He wore short shorts made out of something called denim with multiple scarves tied to the belt loops and a glittering bug pattern disturbingly close to the crotch. The top, held in place by double sided tape and a few sticking charms, was nothing more than two green lime shapes held up by jeweled straps that then crossed around his middle and connected via pink jewels to the middle of the top. The shoes, perhaps the blandest part of his outfit, were beige boots up to his knees one twined around with pink and the other with green. The beige seemed to want to be an attempt to blend in with a standard caucasian skin tone but only served to highlight his truthfully deathly pallor.

He considered voicing his concerns but before he could open his mouth Umbridge handed him a cage with a snake in it. He hissed at it. The snake hissed back.

They were bonding already.

"And how do you expect me to know the words," he asked, seconds before he was to perform.

"I'll be in the back with cue cards. You simply have to read them. No one expects these children to be incredibly talented." She stopped and thought a moment. "And if it looks like things are going really poorly, simply have the snake do something impressive."

Tim nodded.

For the most part the performance went off without a hitch. A few of the pageant parents turned around to glare at Umbridge but she always managed to hide the cue cards - though that made it difficult for little Tim Voldemort (or rather Timantha Margaret Rizzlekicks) to read them. In those moments he just hissed at the snake and they danced together. Against his better judgement, Tim found that he was enjoying himself!

And when he stepped off stage, if you'd have asked him, he'd have said he rather Avada Kedavra'd the performance! 

Glowing and thrilled from the rush of performing live, Tim managed to make it back to his dressing station before the fatigue hit him. But Tim did not want to lose! If only he had some more unicorn blood… But, Umbridge had given him some! Before he could take a sip, though, Umbridge snatched it out of his hand.

"Ah -" he opened his mouth to protest.

"Fatigue is good," she said, lowly so as to not alert the others around. "The next competition is the Footie Pajama competition."

Tim still wanted some go-go juice. "But the catwalk portion is before that. And there are still other talent acts to go on. I'll be asleep long before then if I don't have more," he whined. Whined! Tim actually whined to this plump woman!

But it totally worked! She handed over the bottle. "Not too much," she said. "The first to fall asleep almost always wins."

He nodded solemnly but inside rejoiced for the sweet, silver, unicorn blood he was about to feast on.

He sat down on the ground and placed the snake in front of him. "You did so good," he told the snake. "I like you. You need a name!" He thought and thought. Samuel L Jackson? That was an interesting combination of names and letters. But no… Maybe he could name it after himself somehow. A play on his last name. Puzzle the snake? That wasn't very good… But then Tom thought back to a video some of the other contestants had been watching earlier. Some actor they had said gave them the zingely tingelies who had done some snake-hip dance who shared his name. "Ssssssir Tom! I'll name you Ssssssir Tom."

It was at this point that Umbridge returned. "What about Sir Tom?"

"Not Sir Tom. Ssssssir Tom. It's what I've decided to name the snake you gave me."

Umbridge narrowed her eyes. This child had revealed himself to be a parselmouth and now named the snake after the wizarding world's most prominent dark wizard.

"Why that name?"

Sensing her caution, Tim did his best to sell the Snake-Hips actor inspiration and not his true desire to preserve his own name through this snake.

She nodded her head. "Tom Hiddleston gives me the zingely tingelies."

Tim decided to let the comment pass.

"It's almost time for the Footie Pajama Competition. Put your pajamas on."

Tim climbed into his pajamas. They were absurd. How could anyone expect someone to fall asleep with their bum covered in ruffles, itchy lace at their wrists and neck, and no way to moderate their body temperature by exposing one foot but not the other? Though Tim had to admit that he really did like the pastel green and snake pattern. He walked out of his changing cubicle to the coos of Umbridge.

"Absolutely darling!"

"There's no way I'll be able to sleep," he said.

Umbridge waved the comment away. "I can always magic it to look like you are asleep."

"But wouldn’t the revenge be sweeter if we won fair and square?" Voldemort could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth. Since when did he care about fairness and squareness?

Umbridge tapped her chin with her wand which had been charmed to look like a blush brush so as to not draw attention to it. "I suppose," she conceded.

"Then can we get rid of the lace?"

"Heavens, no! The lace is what makes the pajamas so cute! And that makes it look all the more impressive when you sleep. Or rather appear to sleep."

Tim glared at Umbridge. "Couldn’t you just charm the lace to not itch?"

She sighed. "I suppose so. But charming lace is far less impressive than a sleeping glamour."

Tim didn't understand what this had to do with anything. After all, this was a muggle competition, not a magical one.

She waved her wand and Tim experienced instant relief.

"Now." She knelt down and looked him in the eye. "You are allowed one special prop for the cuteness catwalk and the nap competition. What is your strategy?"

Tim spoke without thinking: "blanket."

Umbridge opened her mouth to argue but they were calling the contestants to line up so she handed him a blanket - a dark gray with a scale pattern - and pushed him along.

The music played, the announcers made cutesy comments and Tim felt as though he needed more unicorn blood. He was very, very sleepy.

He waddled himself down the catwalk trailing the blanket behind him, stopped for his pose at the end but instead of the sleepy 'can-I-have-a-glass-of-water' look he accidentally let out a huge yawn.

The crowd "aww'd."

He made his catwalk retreat and then, with military precision, rows of identical nap-nap mats were laid out. Guardians placed their contestants on mats, retreated to the sidelines, and a hush fell over the room.

"You may climb onto your nap-nap mat in three…. Two… One… Nap," an announcer said.

"Looks like we've got some stiff competition this year," the other whispered.

"You said it, Dustin."

They continued their whispered commentary.

"Speaking of stiff competition, check out the lace on contestant 17! A risky move. Lace tends to be super itchy and can keep even the most tired of toddlers awake."

Sleepily, Tim realized they were talking about him.

"That doesn’t seem to be deterring her, though! She's almost asleep."

And Tim was out.

 

He awoke to Umbridge shaking him awake.

"You stole the show," she hissed excitedly.

Tim rubbed at his eyes.

"You were brilliant, absolutely perfect! I didn't even need to use magic!"

But despite her enthusiasm, Tim couldn't help but overhear whispered accusations that he couldn't possibly have fallen asleep with all that lace. That Umbridge must have drugged him.

But she wouldn't have.

Would she?

Tim didn't have much time to contemplate this though because Umbridge shoved an overgrown mass of fabric on.

"Quickly," she said. "Put that on. As long as you're quick we'll have a bit of time to practice for the interview portion."

She shepherded him into his changing station where he shed the footie pajamas and proceeded to stare at the mass of fabric before him. Did the interview question require him to be dressed as a flowering bush? The sound of her foot tapping sped him up. He shoved both hands into the mass hoping for some indication of how to wear the garment but they came up empty.

A few 'hem's later, he gave up and walked out of the cubicle rolling the garment before him.

"I can't figure this labyrinth of seams and stitching out," he growled.

Umbridge huffed and plunged one hand in surfacing again in a split second holding what were perhaps straps. She held the dress open. "In with you."

Tim put a tiny hand on hers to steady himself as he stretched his leg as close to the center as he could. With much stretching and straining he made it in. Umbridge’s quick, clinical hands turned him around, performed some magic - and he could tell it was that ordinary kind of magic bred of muscles and reflexes and practice not the kind that needed a wand - and pointed him toward a mirror. The skirt accounted for approximately 98% of the material that comprised the garment. The circumference of the skirt was wider than he was tall! It was ridiculous. But it didn't stop there. Voluminous layers of emerald green tulle started almost at the neckline and cascaded down to sweep the floor. Silk flowers sprouted from the awkwardly small bodice and grew up over the shoulder straps and down onto the skirt itself.

Tim thought he looked quite pretty.

Tim began to question all of his life choices.

Umbridge huffed behind him and began to run her wand-turned-blush-brush over his face. "I had hoped to go over some of the questions with you but it looks like we won't have time. Just give boring, muggle answers and try to be cute. We'll have to hope your success with the footie pajama portion will be enough to offset any errors you make here."

Somehow, this made Tim want to both impress her by performing perfectly and also prove her right by giving the worst answers possible.

He stewed over what he would do as he joined the line of other contestants and was marched onto the stage.

Thankfully, a few other contestants went before him so he could study their answers. But more than one of them answered with some strange vegetable soup.

He supposed that the judges expected their memories to not be terribly good because they were all asked some combination of the same questions.

Then they got to him.

"So tell us -" they paused to look at their card "Timantha? Well okay. Tell us Timantha. What is your idea of a perfect playdate?"

Tim thought for a moment. "October 31st," he said. "Not too formal, not too casual. All you need is a rat willing to sell out his only friends."

He looked towards Umbridge's face in the audience for approval. She scowled and fluffed her blush brush.

"Interesting answer, Timantha!" They plowed on. "What is the most important thing our society needs?"

Tim, unwisely, spoke without thinking. "Less harsh punishments for those sent to Azkaban."

Umbridge's face was growing as pink as her suit.

"I mean... Whirled Peas?"

The audience twittered and aww'd so Tim figured this soup must really be something special. It wasn't until his fourth of fifth beauty pageant - err, make that scholarship program as Umbridge kept reminding him - that he realized that they were all saying 'world peace' with their little, lisp-y toddler voices. Tim decided this wasn't such a bad answer - so long as he got to define 'peace.'

The commentators thanked him for his originality and honesty before moving on. Everyone else gave fairly standard responses that felt stuttery and rehearsed and scripted. Except for Orange who answered the 'what does the world need more of' question with a very enunciated "gender equality" which earned riotous cheers from people Tim guessed to be Orange's parents.

 

Anyway. Long story short, Tim took second place, quite respectable for his first pageant. Umbridge seemed pleased with this - citing his win to a combination of his own clueless, orphaned charm and her expert and proficient charms. Though Tim suspected that the fact that Susan's child not placing in the top three helped her approval.

"Thank you for that," Umbridge later told him. "You were - well you weren't quite superb but you did the job fairly well."

Tiny toddler Tim Voldemort nodded, watching the muggle buildings pass by on their carriage ride to what he was surprised to think of as home.

"I suppose you have no more use for me," he said.

Umbridge gave a thoughtful 'hem.' "I suppose a revenge of sorts has been exacted. Though I do think with more practice and pruning we could crush Susan even more thoroughly."

Tim grinned wickedly. "Count me in." Crushing the dreams of those placed beneath him and watching their tears when he received the glittering crown had inspired in him a twisted and new kind of joy.

And so Delores Umbridge and her orphaned Timantha Margaret Rizzlekicks continued around the pageant circuit, crushing Umbridge's old colleagues' and Tim's competition’s dreams.

Though all good things must end.

 

One day roughly a year and a half later, searching for that first crown he had won (his favorite of all of them), Tim stumbled upon a door he had never quite paid attention to before. Curious, he tried the door only to find it locked. He slunk away but kept the door in mind until he found Umbridge's wand unguarded. He took it, performed an unlocking charm and entered the dark room.

"Lumos," he whispered just loud enough to provide ample light but soft enough to not alert Umbridge. He almost dropped the wand in shock.

He stared back at his own face which covered the walls. School portraits, pictures clipped from the Daily Prophet, artist renderings, wanted posters. His face from almost every phase of his life looked gravely back at him. What, he wondered, were these doing here? But then again, what was he doing here? Hunting for a tiara in a pink, ministry witch's house? Dressing up in frilly gowns and spending his time and energy crushing small children? Granted, that is what he had focused on for a time years ago when he went looking for the Potter boy. But this was different. Crushing muggle children's dreams wasn't getting him any closer to everlasting life.

Tim... No, he thought. Tom. Voldemort. Voldemort dropped his shoulders. He watched the light fall across his countless black and white faces and then illuminate a gash of color. Still defeated, but now curious he stepped closer. Lipstick? It was! Perfect, plump lip prints in Umbridge's favorite Fussy Gorgeous Ghouls Pink lipstick speckled his portraits.

He turned and ran.

He stopped by his room long enough to grab what was left of his unicorn blood stash, Ssssssir Tom, make a blanket rope, and climb out the window.

Cars slowed as they passed him on the sidewalk looking quite strange carrying a stick and an armful of bottles and sippy cups and a snake but none of them stopped. And Voldemort kept marching north until he found himself in a clearing. After he placed the bottles on the ground, careful to not spill a drop, he pressed the wand to his forearm. He didn't have enough power yet to reactivate the full dark mark but it was enough to alert any Death Eater looking for him - surely there were a few - to his position.

 

Epilogue 

 

"Why had none of you peons come to help me earlier? After that Squirrel fellow bumbled so badly," Voldemort rasped. He had called all of the death Eaters back to his side in the graveyard where his father's body lay while Harry Potter struggled against his bonds in the corner.

"We did not know where you were, my lord," one replied.

"Umm," began another. "What were you even up to?"

The Dark Lord paled (an impressive sight indeed). He had done so much in those months. Crushed so many hopes and dreams. He thought about the one tiara he had saved and buried in that clearing before he had been reunited with Wormtail.

They could never know.

"Not much," Voldemort said.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a tumblr post from accio-shitpost: "what if during prisoner of azkaban voldemort was enacting some really devious ‘kill harry potter’ plan that backfired so totally that we didn’t even get to see it, he just spent the whole year cleaning up the mess he made."  
> Credit must also go to pbfik, LadyLovebacken, beradan, and AlpacaMyHedgehog for the many ideas they gave me and for being a sounding board through this - the longest fic I have ever written.


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